“Now,” Hallie said, “the code for if you see a cute guy will be, ‘Hubba hubba.’”
“What?” Gert asked.
“Erika,” Hallie said, “will you explain to Gert the origin of ‘Hubba hubba’?”
“My pleasure,” Erika said. She gazed toward the sky, which was getting grayer. “Well,” she said, “way back when I used to work in Rye Playland at the admissions gate, a co-worker of mine would always say ‘Hubba, hubba’ when she saw a cute guy coming up to the ticket line. We’d all look to see who she was talking about, and then we’d see if our judgment matched hers. So to carry on the tradition today, we will use ‘Hubba hubba’ as our alert.”
“Thank you, Erika,” Hallie said. “Let the scouting begin.”
Gert looked for possibly single men in the Times Square crowd. On a Sunday, there were more likely to be tourists than residents on their way to work. But tourists were fair game. Hallie had once told Gert that she wouldn’t mind meeting someone from far away. Midwestern guy from the plains? Perfect. She could move out there and milk cows with the man she loved. Heck, maybe she was just looking for a reason to leave.
“Hubba hubba,” Hallie said.
Gert saw the man in question. He looked to be in his twenties, but he was unfortunately with his parents. Hallie stood up on her tiptoes, watching him, waiting for him to peel off from them for a second—maybe toward Virgin Records, which she thought might well be appropriate—but in the end, he didn’t.
“Hubba hubba,” Erika said.
“Where?” Hallie nearly got whiplash.
“Brown pants, brown shirt.”
They looked to the left.
Gert saw who they were talking about. He was even wearing a brown cap.
“I think he’s a UPS worker,” Erika said.
“At least he’s color coordinated,” Hallie said.
Gert leaned against the building, tired. She craned her neck to look at its top. Sometimes it hurt to do that.
“Hubba hubba,” Erika said.
Gert turned her head. “Where?”
“Black pants. Blue jacket.”
The three of them looked down the block.
“That girl’s with him,” Hallie said.
“Are you sure?”
“She just had her hand in his back pocket.”
“Maybe she wanted gum.”
They could leave and see a movie, Gert thought. Or go up to the Met. It was a nice day for it, and she hadn’t been there in ages. She’d last gone six years ago, when Nancy had visited.
“Hubba hubba,” Hallie said.
“Where?” Erika asked.
“Blue jeans. Red shirt.”
The gentleman in question had thinning hair, but he was cute, and he looked the right age. He was walking swiftly toward them, carrying a tennis racquet. Gert had played tennis a lot in high school. She hadn’t done it much after getting married. She was thinking about taking it up again now.
When he neared them, Hallie said, “Excuse me, sir.”
“I’m in a hurry,” the guy said.
“This will only take a moment,” Hallie said, turning to follow him. “We were wondering if you’re single.”
The guy looked back and laughed. “I’m not married. But I live with someone.”
“Oh, thanks,” Hallie said.
“Wait,” Erika yelled. “Are you thinking of breaking up with her?”
The guy turned again, smiled, and shook his head.
Hallie turned and looked at her. “Are you thinking of breaking up with her?!”
“You’re too defeatist,” Erika said, taking a cigarette out of her purse and leaning against the wall. “There are a ton of guys in New York who keep living with someone just because it’s too expensive for them to get their own place. People in this city postpone breaking up for months because rents are too high. But they’re dying for an incentive to leave. If you wait until they decide to do it on their own, they’ll go to a bar, meet a new girl in two and a half minutes, and be off the market again. So your only chance is to catch them when they’re still safely in one place, and verrrry unhappy.”
“Point taken,” Hallie agreed.
They leaned against the wall. A few minutes passed without any sightings.
“Hubba hubba,” Erika said.
“Where?”
“Yankee cap. Blue jacket.”
The man was across the street. He waited for the light to change, then walked toward them.
“Paul!” Gert said in delight.
“Gertie!” Paul said. “How are you?”
He reached her and they hugged. It was the guy Gert had dated in college before Marc—the one who had glad-handed all the profs and deans. They hadn’t dated long, but they still had said hello when they passed each other on campus, and now, when they occasionally crossed paths in New York. Gert was glad she hadn’t gotten involved with Paul. He seemed kind of phony, a bit of a social climber. But still okay.
“How are you?” Paul asked again, looking vaguely at her friends.
“I’m fine,” Gert said. “This is Hallie and Erika.”
“Nice to meet you,” Paul said, shaking their hands. “You both live here?”
“Yes,” Hallie said, smiling at him.
“Are you registered to vote?”
“Uh,” Hallie said, “I’m registered at my parents’ house.”
“You should register here,” Paul said. “Gert’s registered, right?”
“Yes,” Gert said. “In Queens.”
Paul looked at Hallie and Erika. “Do you two know that the Board of Ed. elections are coming up?”
“No….”
“They are,” Paul said. “And we’ve also got the statewide assembly primaries, and all of this has an impact on your life. I know you may not have kids yet, so you don’t think the Board of Ed. matters to you, but if you wait until you have kids to get involved and make changes, those changes won’t go into effect until your kids are nearly ready to leave the system.”
“But…”
“The second thing is, whether you use the schools or not, all of us pay school taxes with our property tax dollars,” Paul said. “You guys are taxpayers and you should take every advantage of your right to vote.”
“I don’t pay property taxes,” Hallie said, trying to look past him. “I’m a renter.”
“Oh, but renters do pay property taxes,” Paul said, moving his head so that he was still in line with her face. “I hear that all the time from people your age.”
“How old are you?”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Part of your rent does go to municipal taxes. That’s why rents in New York are so high: Municipal taxes. Look me in the eye and tell me you hear what I’m saying.”
Hallie and Erika both stared at him.
“I hear you,” Hallie said flatly.
“You’ve got to use your right to vote,” Paul repeated. He laughed. “Sometimes people spend more energy thinking of excuses why they haven’t registered than it would take to actually go register.”
He stared at them.
“Promise me that you’ll at least register in time for the primaries,” he said.
“O-kay,” Hallie said.
“Great,” Paul said, shaking their hands. “So I’ve done one good thing today. Gert, is your number the same?”
“Yes. It’s listed.”
“Good. Let’s do lunch soon, when we’re not so busy. I’m on my way to a meeting, Local Council of District Carpenters. Very important union. Good to see you all.”
“Good to see you.”
He took off.
A second later, Gert said, “Oh, my God, I’m sorry. I forgot to ask Paul if he’s single.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Hallie said.
“Don’t,” Erika said.
They looked both ways up and down the block.
“Hubba hubba.”
“Where have you been all day?”
Cat slid in the door at eight
o’clock as they were watching Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, which was somewhere in the ten-to-twenty range in the canon.
“My parents were in town,” Cat said.
“I know that,” Hallie said, barely masking her annoyance. “You were supposed to meet us after lunch.”
“They wanted to take me shopping.” Bags hung from her arms like ornaments from a Christmas tree.
“Well,” Erika said, looking over the first page of her notebook, “we’re not sharing any of our men.”
“I’ll come next time, I promise,” Cat said before she disappeared into her room.
“Nice to have Mommy and Daddy do everything for you,” Erika said.
“As if we’d turn down the help,” Gert said. She threw a popcorn kernel in the air and caught it in her mouth.
“I wouldn’t,” Hallie said. “I’d take anyone’s help.”
“What are we going to do with all the phone numbers?” Erika asked. “Are we really going to invite all the men to a ‘Stud Party’?”
“Yes,” Hallie said. She kicked off her shoes. “If only one hot guy starts dating us from it, it’ll have been worth it.”
“Maybe they’ll fight over us,” Erika said.
“We know they’re good-looking, and we know they’re single,” Hallie said. “This is the best thing ever.”
Gert looked up. “What would be the next step?” she asked. “Let’s say you go on a date out of this. Would you be the one to pay?”
“I don’t know,” Hallie said. “See? This is why women never attempt this. What if a guy I picked up today started dating me. Would I pay every time? Would I be expected to make the first move physically, too? I should write a letter about this to a women’s magazine.”
Cat came out of the kitchen with a bag and mouthful of Chee•tos. “You sooood,” she said.
“I’ve never made the first move, physically,” Hallie said. “I don’t think I could do it. In order for men to give us the level of attention that we deserve, they’ve got to be pursuing us and in love with us, because anything less won’t hold their attention. Guys just naturally get distracted more easily. There’s too many women for them to be distracted by. I’m sorry, but a relationship will never work if the woman is the one doing the chasing.”
“Then the gender roles can’t fully switch,” Gert said, wiping butter off her fingers.
“Right,” Hallie said. “If I ever did ask one of these guys on a date, I’d still leave it up to them to call afterwards. It has to snap back into its normal mode or it’ll never work. Why do you think Erika ends up stalking from afar most of the time?”
“Shhhh!” Erika said, pointing the remote control at the TV and turning up the volume. “I like this part!”
It was the “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head” scene. Paul Newman and Katharine Ross were riding a bicycle.
“This movie is not what I thought it would be,” Hallie said.
“When they made it, they were debating whether to make it a comedy,” Gert said.
“Oh,” Hallie said.
“Movies you’ve heard about for years sometimes are completely different when you actually see them,” Gert said.
“Usually worse,” Erika said.
“When Marc had me watch Midnight Cowboy, I thought it was going to be an adventure movie,” Gert said. “But it’s not.”
Hallie seemed annoyed at what was on the screen. “It’s a bank robbery movie, and they’re doing wheelies,” she said. “It doesn’t work.”
Gert remembered when Marc had her watch it one rainy afternoon sophomore year, downstairs in the living room of the house he lived in. Various other guys drifted through the house and stopped to watch, and by the end, there were five guys standing behind the couch, transfixed. Gert had felt good about this, for some reason. Maybe it was that Marc was the trend-setter in the house. But he’d taken her out to dinner after the movie, showing that he wanted to be with her alone—not with his guy friends.
Gert reached for more popcorn. Her mind drifted to Marc’s family. They hadn’t returned the two messages she’d left about meeting up with them Tuesday. Maybe they’d just been busy. She’d try once more.
It also had been a few days since she’d seen Todd, but she’d talked to him on the phone. They had a dinner date set for Wednesday, the day after she would get back from visiting Marc. If things got uncomfortable with his parents, at least she could tell Todd about it. He’d sounded a bit strange on the phone, maybe still getting used to the idea of dating a widow. But no matter what happened, at least she’d see him Wednesday.
She didn’t consider the possibility that this might change.
“Before we finish our happy celebration of the Manhunt,” Erika said. “We must take a new visit…to Challa’s Corner!”
Gert’s stomach dropped. She’d hoped the pursuit of Dr. Eden had helped her forget. She didn’t know why Erika had to bring up something that continually upset her, when they all had been relaxing. Maybe Erika had to keep confronting herself with the reality of it, just like Gert had to keep thinking about Marc being gone.
“I thought you were taking a break from it,” Hallie said, making Gert glad she wasn’t the only one concerned.
“I haven’t checked in three days,” Erika said. “I swear I’m cutting down. I just can’t quit cold turkey. Next time I’ll wait four days.”
They trooped into Hallie’s bedroom. Gert was reluctant to leave the couch, but was happy to flop onto the big bed. Hallie turned on the computer and Erika sat in the chair. Challa’s blue screen came on, but no one was expecting what would pop up next.
Amid the usual graphics, there was a giant message that said:
WE’RE PREGNANT AGAIN!!!! Click here.
Erika looked as if she was in a daze.
Gert couldn’t help staring at the screen. She was thinking: They’re my age. The two of them met five years after Marc and I did. And they’re already on their second kid.
Erika clicked for the message board, her hands shaking a bit.
“Congratulations, guys!!! Love, Annie.”
“Best of luck.”
Erika looked appalled but kept her eyes on the screen.
Finally she threw her hands up and moved backward.
“It’s a train wreck,” she said. “I keep waiting for them to break up, and I see more and more steps in his life. First he’s married. Then he’s got a kid. Soon he’ll have two kids. How long do I have to wait until the divorce? Aren’t fifty percent of marriages supposed to end that way? Am I supposed to wait until he’s forty-nine for him to finally realize we should be together?”
“Erika…” Hallie said.
Erika’s face was turning red. She shook her head. “If he saw me again, I know he’d want me. A woman who had two kids can’t measure up. She’s probably stretched and fatlike right now.”
“Er.”
“Just let me do this one thing.” Erika began typing.
“You said you weren’t going to write any more messages,” Hallie said.
“Just one more.”
She typed: YOUR CHILD HAS COME FROM THE INCUBUS. WATCH FOR CLOVEN HOOVES.
She blasted it into cyberspace.
Hallie reached over to shut down the computer.
“Mark my words,” Erika said, looking at them both. “She’s ruining his life. His desire for everything is completely lost. He was talented. He was going to go to grad school for architecture. What happened to that? He should be designing buildings instead of working at a job that has nothing to do with art. He needs someone who’ll complement him and awaken his passions, not someone who lets him be so…settled. This Web log is evidence of a great big nothing. It’s time to remind him what creativity and passion are. The kind that we had.”
Gert didn’t think Erika was getting any better, three-day blog hiatus notwithstanding.
Chapter
11
The wind was blowing Tuesday morning, the day Gert was going to see Marc’s gra
ve. The weather was perfect for Boston: cloudy. A mess. It would probably take longer than usual to get there. There were rumors of snow. It hadn’t materialized, but dirt and leaf bits whirled through the air.
Marc’s family had not returned her third call. Were they avoiding her, or just consumed by Michael’s upcoming wedding? She had her cell phone with her in case they called back. She imagined Mrs. Healy getting the messages, but Mrs. Healy wouldn’t be the one to return them. If anyone would, Mr. Healy would.
She wondered again if she should take Todd to Michael’s wedding. She would feel better having him there. But it might also be an affront. It might be like telling Marc’s family goodbye. She wasn’t ready to do that.
Still, if they were going to make her feel uncomfortable, shouldn’t she move on as well? Or at least take steps in that direction?
Gert had taken along the Economist to read on the bus. It was one of Marc’s two-year subscriptions she hadn’t canceled. But she ended up putting her head against the window to sleep. The sky was overcast, and the back of the bus was dark. She slept through most of the five-hour trip.
It was lightly drizzling when they got in around noon. Gert groggily headed through South Station, but stopped at one of the kiosks to buy a donut—strawberry frosted with yellow sprinkles.
When she stepped outside, the wind hit her in the face right away.
She brushed the hair out of her eyes and headed across the street. Red tape streamed off striped orange barricades. There was always construction going on across the street from South Station. She made her way around the plazas and office buildings toward the subway.
A few drops of drizzle stung her. Saplings in a plaza swayed ominously. The weather was mocking her. It was Marc’s weather. It had always felt this way when they’d gone up to Boston to visit his relatives—frozen, stinging. Marc had always walked her through it, pulling her into a warm restaurant, a cozy tavern, his parents’ living room. But today, there was no one to guide her through the bitter cold—only the cold itself.
Gert had to take the red subway to the green subway to an MBTA commuter train to a taxi to the gravesite.
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